ALERT: ‼️ This chapter contains graphic details. If you’re sensitive to violence, please do not read further. If you do, read with caution. ⛔️
AKILAHYEL’S POV
The sun was already beating down on the compound by 08:00, but the heat didn’t feel like the usual Abuja warmth.
It felt heavy, like the air itself was mourning.
I pulled my car into the driveway, past the guards who looked like they hadn’t slept in days.
My heart felt like a lead weight.
I had seen enough battlefield trauma to know that the quietest person in the room was usually the one closest to a total system failure. And Soteria was too quiet.
I stepped into the house and the chaos was already starting.
People were moving everywhere. High-ranking officers were coming in to sign the condolence register, and the kitchen was a loud mess of clattering pots and aunties arguing over how much salt should go into the jollof rice for the guests. It was too much.
It was a circus of grief, and Soteria was right in the middle of it.
I found her in the main parlor.
She was dressed in a simple black gown, her hair packed into a neat, tight bun.
She was pointing a caterer toward the back garden, her voice steady and her posture straight as an arrow.
If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was just an efficient event planner.
But I saw her hands. They were trembling ever so slightly as she gripped her phone.
“Soteria,” I called out.
She turned around and gave me that smile. It was a haunting, polite little curve of the lips that made my skin crawl.
It was the smile of someone who had left their body a long time ago.
“Akilahyel,” she said, her voice dry.
“You’re early. Have you greeted my mom? She’s in the private lounge.”
“I’m not here to greet her, Soteria,” I said, stepping closer until I was blocking her path.
“Your bags are already in my car. Naya and Amara are waiting outside. We are leaving.”
She blinked at me, the odd smile faltering for just a second before it snapped back into place.
“Leaving to where? I can’t leave, Akila. Look at this place. The Chief of Army Staff is coming by noon. The caterers need direction. And my mother... I can’t leave my mother alone in this.”
“Your mother is with Asuquo and Effiom,” I countered, my voice dropping to a low, firm tone.
I wasn’t asking her. I was giving her an order she didn’t know she needed.
“They have a nurse with her. The protocols are handled. You are standing here acting strong, but you are not strong. You are a daughter who hasn’t slept or eaten well in days. You are no use to anyone if you collapse in front of the COAS.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for another task to hide behind.
“I have to stay. This is my father’s house.”
I reached out and gently but firmly took her arm.
Her skin felt like ice despite the morning heat.
“Soteria, look at me.”
She finally met my eyes, and for a split second, the mask cracked.
I saw the sheer, terrifying exhaustion behind her pupils. I saw a girl who was drowning in a room full of people.
“You are a walking corpse right now,” I said softly, my voice losing its military edge.
“If you stay here, you will shatter into a million pieces before the sun goes down. Naya will be at my house. Amara will also be there. There are no mourners there. No caterers. No cameras. Just peace and quiet. Let’s go.”
She looked at the parlor one last time, at the portrait of her father staring down at us with his medals and his stern gaze.
I felt her resistance melt away. It was like the air went out of her.
Her shoulders slumped just a fraction, and she let out a breath that sounded like a weary sigh.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I didn’t give her a chance to change her mind.
I led her out of the house.
I guided her into the front seat of my car and closed the door.
As I climbed into the driver’s seat, I saw Naya in the rearview mirror, her face swollen from crying but her eyes filled with relief that we finally got her out.
I pulled out of the gates and didn’t look back.
I could feel her beside me, sitting perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap like she was still on duty.
She was still fighting it, still holding the wall up with everything she had.
I gripped the steering wheel, my mind drifting to what Almeera said.
I wasn’t going to fix her. I couldn’t. But as we drove away from the wailing and the heavy silence of that mansion, I promised myself I would be the one to catch her when she finally let go.
SOTERIA’S POV
The drive to Akila’s house was a hollow silence that felt heavier than any noise.
I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the familiar streets of Abuja blur past. Wuse, Maitama, the Central Area.
It all looked like a movie set where the actors had forgotten their lines.
My hands were still folded neatly in my lap, my back straight, my chin up.
I was still the General’s daughter.
I still had to make sure the world didn’t see the messy, broken parts of the Idorenyin name.
When Akila pulled into his driveway, the quiet of the neighborhood hit me like a physical blow.
There were no sirens here. No military orderlies scurrying about.
No rows of black SUVs blocking the gate. It was just a house.
A quiet, still house with a small garden and a front door that didn’t look like it was guarding a fortress.
Akila killed the engine, but he didn’t move. He sat there for a second, his hands resting on the steering wheel, just letting the silence settle between us.
“We’re here,” he said softly.
I didn’t answer.
I just opened the car door and stepped out.
The air here felt different— thinner, somehow.
Naya and Amara were already out of the back, moving toward me with that cautious, tiptoeing energy people use around things that are about to shatter.
“Soso, come inside,” Naya whispered, reaching for my hand.
Her palm was warm and a little sweaty, a sharp contrast to the cold numbness that had taken up residence in my bones.
“I’ve aired out the guest room for you. It’s quiet. No one is going to bother you.”
I followed them inside like a child being led to class.
Akila’s house has always been like him. Minimalist, organized, and steady.
There was no clutter, no overwhelming scent of lilies, just the faint smell of wood polish and old books.
It should have felt welcoming, but to me, it felt like a vacuum.
Without the noise of the mourners to distract me, the reality of my father’s absence was starting to howl in the corners of my mind.
Naya and Amara led me to the guest wing.
The room was beautiful, painted in a soft, neutral cream that reminded me of the dress I had worn to church. The dress I had been wearing when my world ended.
I stood in the center of the room, my bag sitting on the floor like a heavy, unwanted guest.
“Do you want to lie down?” Amara asked, her voice trembling.
She was trying so hard to be strong for me, but I could see her chin quivering.
“I can get you some water. Or a blanket? Are you cold?”
“I’m fine, Amara,” I said.
My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone far away.
“I’ll just sit for a bit.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress was firm. I stared at my hands, tracing the lines on my palms.
I could feel them watching me from the doorway. I knew what they wanted. They wanted me to scream.
They wanted me to fall into their arms and soak their shirts with tears.
They wanted the “old” Soteria back, the one who wore her heart on her sleeve.
But that girl was gone. She had died in the foyer of my father’s house.
Naya walked over and sat on the rug at my feet, resting her head against my knee. “Akila is in the kitchen,” she murmured.
“He said he’s making something light. He told us to just stay with you. We aren’t going anywhere, Soteria. Even if you don’t say a word for the next three days, we are right here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
It was the only thing I could manage.
I looked up and saw Akila leaning against the doorframe.
He wasn’t coming in, but he wasn’t leaving either.
He was just standing there, his arms folded across his chest, watching me with an intensity that made me want to look away.
He didn’t have that look of pity that everyone else had.
The look that said
Oh, you poor thing.
His look was different. It was a challenge. It was as if he was waiting for the real me to fight my way out of this mannequin I had become.
“The water is on the nightstand,” he said, his voice deep and grounding.
“Naya, Amara, let her breathe. I’ll bring something up in a bit.”
They eventually moved away, lured out by the quiet command in his voice.
I was left alone in the room, the silence finally closing in around me. I didn’t lie down. I couldn’t.
If I closed my eyes, I’d see the shattered glass again. If I lay back, the weight of the ceiling would crush me.
I just stayed there, a shadow in a beautiful room, staring at the wall and wondering how much longer I could keep the dam from breaking.
I could feel the jagged edges of my grief cutting into me from the inside, but I clamped my jaw shut.
I wasn’t ready. Not yet.
I was in Akila’s house, in a place of peace, but all I could feel was the terrifying pressure of a storm that was finally, inevitably, catching up to me.
Hours later, I got up in search of water.
The kitchen was bathed in the kind of thick, heavy shadows that only exist in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is pretending to sleep.
I hadn’t even realized I’d moved until I found myself standing at the entrance, my bare feet cold against the tiles.
The house was silent, but the silence inside my head was louder. I needed water, or maybe I just needed to feel like I wasn’t the only ghost wandering these halls.
Akila was there.
He wasn’t sitting; he was standing by the stove, the blue flame of the burner casting a sharp, flickering light against his jawline. He didn’t jump when I walked in.
He didn’t even turn around immediately. It was like he knew the weight of my footsteps before I even took them.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to steady the air in the room.
“I can’t,” I whispered, pulling my silk robe tighter around my waist.
“Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I’m falling.”
He finally turned, holding a mug of tea, and he pointed toward the kitchen stool.
I sat down, my legs feeling like they were made of water.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. He just moved around the kitchen with that military precision, placing a small plate of sliced apples and a few crackers in front of me.
He didn’t tell me to eat. He just left it there, a silent offering.
“Akila,” I said, my voice cracking the stillness.
“How did you do it? How did you keep standing when your father was taken?”
He paused, his hand resting on the counter. His posture changed, his shoulders tightening as if he were preparing for a blow.
“It wasn’t easy. It was the hardest thing I ever had to survive. Some days, I’m still surviving it.”
I leaned forward, my heart beating a jagged rhythm against my ribs.
I needed to know. I needed to see someone else’s scars so I could understand my own.
“How did it happen? Naya told me he was killed, but she never told me how. Please. I need to hear it.”
Akila’s face went hard, his eyes darkening. “No, Soteria. You don’t want to hear that. Not tonight. It’s too graphic. It’s the kind of thing that stays with you forever.”
“I’m already living in a nightmare,” I said, my voice rising with a sudden, desperate edge.
“Nothing you tell me can be worse than the silence in my father’s house. Please. How did he die?”
He let out a long, heavy sigh that sounded like it came from the very bottom of his soul.
He pulled up a stool and sat across from me, his eyes fixed on mine. For a moment, he wasn’t the untouchable Captain.
He was just a man carrying a mountain.
“It was nine years ago,” he began, his voice dropping to a whisper.
‼️PROCEED WITH CAUTION‼️
“I was just about to turn twenty-one the next day. We had plans. My dad and I were going out to see a piece of land he’d just bought, a place where he wanted to retire and farm. We were laughing in the car, talking about the party my mom was planning. Then, out of nowhere, a vehicle intercepted us. They forced us off the road at gunpoint.”
I held my breath, my fingers digging into the edge of the wooden stool.
“They took us deep into the bush,” Akila continued, his gaze drifting past me as if he were seeing the trees and the dirt all over again.
“They weren’t just thieves. They were extremists. They lined us up with some other people they’d snatched. Then they singled out my father. They knew who he was. A man of deep faith. They told him that all he had to do was renounce Jesus Christ and we would both walk free.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s throat bobbing.
“My dad looked at me, then he looked at them. He didn’t even hesitate. He said, ‘I will not renounce Jesus.’
“They got angry. They took a blade and they cut off one of his fingers. He screamed. A sound I will never forget. But when they asked him again, he just gasped for air and said, ‘I will not renounce Jesus.’ They did it again. And again. They cut off every single finger on his hand, one by one, asking him the same question after every cut. And every single time, through the blood and the pain, he kept repeating that one sentence. He wouldn’t deny his God.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
My stomach twisted, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.
I could imagine it. The dust, the blood, the unwavering strength of a man being dismantled for his faith.
“I was right there,” Akila whispered, his voice trembling now.
“I was tied up, screaming like a child, begging them to stop, begging him to just say whatever they wanted to hear so they would let him go. The other captives were wailing. But he wouldn’t do it. When they realized they couldn’t break him, they... they finished it. They killed him right there in front of me.”
The kitchen felt like it was spinning. I reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter to stay upright.
“They left his body in the dirt,” Akila said, his eyes coming back to mine, raw and bleeding with old grief.
“They told me to carry him. They told me I was next. They were already preparing to kill me when someone shouted that the army was patrolling nearby. They panicked and ran into the forest, leaving me there in the middle of nowhere, holding my father’s cold body. I had to carry him through that bush for miles, Soteria. Just me and him.”
The silence that followed was absolute. I looked at Akila.
The man I thought was made of stone. And realized he wasn’t strong because he was cold.
He was strong because he had been forged in a fire I couldn’t even imagine.
My father’s death was a tragedy, but Akila’s was an execution.
I looked at the fruit on the plate, then back at his face.
The wall I had built, the one that kept me from crying, felt like it was finally starting to crumble under the weight of his story.
I wasn’t just a girl who lost her dad anymore.
I was sitting across from a man who had carried the dead weight of his hero out of a forest.
And for the first time in three days, the stone in my throat felt like it was about to break.
The silence in the kitchen didn’t just break; it shattered.
As the last words left Akila’s lips, the image of him as a twenty-one-year-old boy, stumbling through a thick forest with the weight of his father’s lifeless, mutilated body in his arms, hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. It was too much.
The world was too cruel.
The stone that had been lodged in my throat for three days finally dissolved into salt and fire.
I didn’t even realize I had moved until I was off the stool and throwing myself at him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck with a desperation that nearly knocked us both over.
Then, the sound came.
It wasn’t a pretty cry.
It was a ragged, animalistic wail that started from the very soles of my feet and tore through my chest.
I sobbed into the crook of his neck, my entire body shaking with the force of a thousand storms.
Every bit of the “Strong Daughter” act, every ounce of the persona, it all evaporated.
I was just Soteria. I was just a girl whose father was gone, clinging to a man who had seen the very gates of hell and survived.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasped between heaving breaths, my tears soaking into his t-shirt.
“Akila, I’m so sorry. It’s too much. Why is the world so wicked? Why did they do that to him?”
I felt Akila’s frame shudder beneath my touch.
For a second, he remained still, that military rigidity holding him together by a single thread.
But then, I felt it.
A deep, broken groan escaped his chest, and his arms came around me, locking me against him with a strength that felt like it would never let go.
I looked up through the blur of my wet lashes, and my heart stopped.
Akila.
The man who never flinched, the man who spoke in cold commands and moved like iron, had a single, thick tear tracing a path down his cheek.
Then another.
He wasn’t just holding me; he was leaning on me.
We sank to the kitchen floor together, our knees hitting the cold tiles, but neither of us cared.
In the middle of that dark kitchen, surrounded by the shadows of our dead fathers, we just wept.
We cried for the fingers lost in a bush. We cried for the slumped body in a study.
We cried for the 35 years of my parent’s marriage that had ended in a single afternoon and the birthday that was celebrated with a funeral.
The grief in the room was a living thing, thick and suffocating, but for the first time, I wasn’t carrying it alone.
Every time a fresh sob shook my shoulders, Akila’s grip tightened, my forehead resting against his shoulders as he let out the breath he had been holding for nine long years.
He wasn’t the Captain right now. He wasn’t the instructor or the protector. He was just a son, finally allowed to bleed.
“It hurts so bad,” I whispered, my voice disappearing into the fabric of his shirt.
“Akila, it hurts like my heart is being pulled out of my chest.”
“I know,” he choked out, his voice raw and unrecognizable.
“I know, Soteria. Just cry. Let it out. Don’t hold it anymore. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
The house remained silent around us, Naya and Amara sleeping oblivious in the other wing, but in that kitchen, a bridge was being built over a river of tears.
The ice had finally melted, leaving behind a jagged, painful reality, but as I felt the warmth of Akila’s tears hitting my hand, I realized that the darkness was a little less terrifying when there were two of you sitting in it.
We stayed there on the floor for a long time, two broken children of great men, finally letting the world see that even the strongest generals have hearts that can break.
I have no words🥲🥲
This has been the toughest I’ve had to write so far🥲🥲
My heart🥲🥲
Now we know how Akila’s father died.
Let’s run up the numbers….
Restack, like and comment.
A new episode drops by 12pm.
Your engagements will ginger me to post it 🙏
Soteria needed akila and akila needed soteria 💐💐